My Obligatory 'New Years' Post.

January 22, 2020 in Goals, Memoir

Anchorhead Coffee

It is officially the start of a new decade.

How Does That Feel?

I’m going to be honest, the realization that an entire decade has elapsed, is surreal.

For a lot of Millennials, it was our first decade as adults – we were thrust into this new world as “contributing members of society,” only to come face-to-face with a recession.

Remember that? I do.

In 2009, I was 21 and a junior in college. Twenty-fucking-one.

For reference, I’m edging thirty-fucking-two in 30 days.

I started undergrad at 18 with the assumption that I would:

go to college > get a good job > date> marry well > have a baby > discover life with my “new” family.

In exact that order.

Listen, the dreams of the typical Midwesterner are simple: you basically mirror what your parents did. Perhaps fall off-the beaten path for a few years, but eventually make your way back home.

A recession was not in the cards nor the proliferation of technology that would go on to complicate the dating landscape. Don’t even get me started…

I remember breaking up with my long-term boyfriend in 2012 and thinking: “how am I supposed to meet people?!” Tinder wasn’t quite a thing yet and being social outside of an academic structure seemed unlikely for me.

I was pushed toward the pits of hell called “online dating” – OkCupid, Match.com. Truth be told, I had been meeting people off the internet since my MySpace days, but we don’t need to talk about that…

My psychic abilities failed to tell me I would be making my way into the arctic jungle full of fake progressives known as Minneapolis, let alone the west coast.

Or have brain hemorrhage.

The universe cackles.

Obviously, this was my biggest challenge and subsequent triumph of the decade. My core was shaken: physically, mentally and emotionally. Shit got real. Radiation. Rehab. Depression. “WhAt Am I dOiNg WiTh My LiFe?!”

That whole bit.

I decided to start a blog when no one was blogging anymore.

Lol.

And now I’m writing a book about it.

I lived this past decade as a 20-something:

The opportune time to make mistakes without critical judgement. More often than not, people will blame your stupidity on your youth. Trust me, I’ve made a lot of mistakes and continue to fuck up every now and again.

I’d like to think I have the tools to process and navigate those situations with much more ease, these days.

Thank you, life. Shitty relationships. Aimless career moves. Precarious situations I had no business being in. Bad sex. Poorly maintained friendships. Lemon drop shots and 15 years of therapy off and on.

If you catch me in a good mood, on the right day, when I’m not ovulating and the weather’s nice…I’ll probably still be down for a lemon drop shot.

Also: when we’re talking about fuck ups, your mileage may vary.

If you did it right, you brought some major keys with you into your 30s.

If you did it wrong [and by “wrong,” I simply mean: you spent zero time in introspection and learned nothing] you will repeat those gaffes in your 30s.

If you’re like most of us, you did some half-ass introspection and self work only after an terrifying situation woke you the fuck up, somewhere between the ages 27-32. That first BIG meltdown is a doozy.

You realize how difficult putting the actual work in is and decide to “do the rest later.”

Let’s be clear: in certain areas, you will not get the same grace at 30 that you would have at 25.

My most recent ex learned this the hard way.

In 2009, I couldn’t wait for college to be over. I was one of the not-so-lucky-few that had tumultuous college experience, leaving me with little to no friends, no contacts and no network to tap into.

Next to that, the world was telling me that my financial future was bleak.

I was still hopeful and bright-eyed – yes, the economy was a big heaping pile of shit, but I just knew I could sift through it and figure it out.

I had time and naivete on my side.

You don’t know what you don’t know…until you do.

It is officially the start of a new year.

What Does That Look Like?

I’m sure you’ve read tons of articles hearkening in 2020, reflecting on the past year. My 2019 – as I mentioned in my Instagram stories – was subpar. Not all of it, but a lot of it. The downward trajectory began in mid June after returning to Seattle from my trip home.

Unfortunately, things that I thought would get done, did not get done; there were a lot of fails and setbacks both personally and professionally.

It wasn’t a great year, guys.

A lot of my personal goals are heavy. Large. They take time. Energy. Effort.

My thoughts about 2020 are this: I am optimistic. I know everyone is declaring 2020 as their year, but I feel it in my spirit that I will finally bring to fruition some of the projects/goals I’ve been working toward over the past 4 years.

Honestly, it’s like being back in undergrad with a better support system, more money, slightly better sex and a bit more insight into how the world works.

I guess that’s all I can ask for.

Cheers!

Mood Music: We Are Young - Fun ft. Janelle Monae

I Didn't Forget About You, NaNo!

November 30, 2019 in NaNoWriMo, Organization

Broadcast Coffee

Halloween has come and gone, Thanksgiving flew by and now the dawning of the holiday season is among us. You know what that means?

I’ve just completed NaNoWriMo 2019.

I’m happy to announce that I surpassed last year’s word count by about 4,000 words – my total this year: 10,025!

You can take a peek at past years results: here, here and here.

Getting better, right?

I had more drive and ambition this go-around which inspired me to make some serious headway.

I am dedicated to this book, this journey and those it could potentially reach on a more deep, intimate level. Myself included.

I also documented my journey via Instagram - public accountability helps to keep me going. When folks are blowing up the DMs asking how the writing is coming, I’m urged to push forward.

Getting Started.

I set an initial outline prior to the start of NaNo - pretty standard - with the goal of completing the first part of my book leading up to the stroke.

It was a lofty target for me, and I didn’t quite get there: close, but not quite.

The structure of my outlines contain snippets from the parts of the story that I wanted to flesh out.

In the context of NaNo, I did this so I wouldn’t be rewriting what I’ve already written.

More Context: I’m currently using Word on my work laptop; my personal laptop is slowly deteriorating –Scrivner is breaking down on me! I may have to refer to my own post about what writing software I might use next!

My job during NaNoWriMo was to fill in the gaps with stories that give the narrative more meat. Filling in the gaps meant that I had to evaluate which pieces to add in and which to take out.

Reliving those, initially thought to be, “easy parts,” is harder than you think.

I start recalling more “anecdotal throwbacks” that border the line of entertaining and dismal; sometimes the “easy parts” turned out to be a heavy load.

I’m saving the details of the stroke for last; I assume that this will be the most emotionally taxing and challenging part to write. You would think 7 years removed, I’d be locked and loaded. Although I’ve done my fair share of reflection, pieces of the puzzle are still tough to dig through.

There was a moment earlier in the week I just sat and laughed at some of my memories. The silliness and sort of “green,” half-grown thoughts of a 20-something made me shake my head.

It is an incredibly cathartic experience.

When I hit a block, I take a “creative” break. I might go on a Target run or hit up Starbucks for a Salted Carmel Mocha, breeze by a dispensary for some edibles – whatever. Along the drive, I’ll talk to myself aloud to work out the details. Full blown conversations wherein I am asking myself questions and answering right back. I’m sure I look like a nut from the outside looking in, but I cherish these moments. Alone.

Every year, I am amazed by how difficult it is to participate in NaNoWriMo: on the outset, I told myself I wanted to write, at minimum, 500 words a day.

Maury determined, ‘that was a lie’.

Life got in the way – life always gets in the way.

I am proud of myself – I’ll give myself a pat on the back for getting as far as I did.

Perhaps in 2020 we double it to 20,000.

Mood Music: Relaxing Jazz - Various Artists

You Show Me Yours. I'll Show You Mine.

September 17, 2019 in Memoir, Writing Exercises, Writing Techniques, Workshops

Zeitgeist Coffee

Although we’re closing another summer, I would be remiss if I left out the very relevant Narrative Writing workshop I attended late July, hosted by author, Ingrid Ricks.

In-between frequenting live music events, floating down rivers, hikes and my brief dating stint [Tinder is still trash] my book project remains center focus – I had to find a way to return home.

The workshop was held at Hugo House, a creative space/resource for local writers in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. I was excited and slightly nervous to be in the company of up-and-coming artists – it was a chance for me to dive further into my story, bounce ideas off of and hear feedback from my peers.

It was a held on a beautiful Sunday afternoon; I needed the fresh air, so I took the light rail transit and decided to walk to the location.

When I arrived, I was greeted by a diverse group of men and women, ready to absorb the information granted by Mrs. Ricks; eyes open, laptops wide, pads and papers waiting to be filled.

We started with a quick, round room introduction: one by one, all fifteen of us shared our names, our intention for participating in the workshop and what we hoped to gain from it.

Mrs. Ricks went on to talk more about her credentials and how she came to build the program:

Ingrid Ricks is a memoir author, with a deep background in journalism. Her NYT Bestseller, Hippie Boy, examines her life growing up in a dysfunctional Mormon family. She is now is a memoir coach and workshop instructor in the greater Seattle area. Check out Ingrid’s website, here.

Throughout the 3-hour workshop, we used various writing exercises to demonstrate our understanding of the following narrative writing principles:

STRUCTURE
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT
VOICE

Before hopping into those foundational elements, we talked about Identifying Your Story which we all had completed as preliminary homework to prepare for the workshop. She lists several questions, including: what is the most emotionally difficult challenge you’ve had to deal with in life so far? to help guide the writer in finding their story.

We already know that my stroke is the focus of my book – it was and continues to be, the hardest event I’ve lived through.

Beginning with STRUCTURE, the key questions asked here are: where to you start? Where do you end? What do you put in? What do you leave out?

Using my memoir as an example: it begins in 2012, ends in 2017. Begins at age 24, ends at age 30. Begins in Minneapolis, ends in Seattle.

This is an extremely critical time in young adulthood; to put it frank: a lot of shit went down. Not everything I experienced during this period, is getting in the book. Many, many stories did not and will not make the cut – it’s impossible – well maybe not impossible, but irrelevant to the central story.

Ricks talks about starting with a key conflict, an action, so that the reader is drawn in immediately.

I’m personally using my continual drive down Highway I-35 N - a crucial element in my story - and my stay at a shady hotel for a couple of weeks, while I attempted to find a permanent place to live [via craigslist], as a jumping off point.

Boom.

The next principle we discussed was CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. We were asked to write about one of our characters and make note of sensory information to describe them: what do they look like? Smell like? What do they sound like? etc.

My story contains a number of amusing and interesting people – from my mousey, punk rock landlord I talked about here, to my old boss: the petite, nearly elder old-school Italian who wore a gold chain and sported peek-a-boo chest hair.

There was a secondary bullet point under character development worth discussing: dialogue. Quiet honestly, I’m horrible at writing lines of conversation – I try to remember certain exchanges I’ve had with people; my attempt at matching the overall basis of the conversation for recreation is dubious.

Ricks has 2 general rules for dialogue:

It’s not what’s being said, but how it’s being said and what the character is doing while saying it.
What are you, the narrator, thinking and feeling in response to the dialogue?

For my book, it’s difficult to pinpoint specificity in past conversations from that time frame – given what has happened to me, it certainly makes sense. I have a feeling that there will be some sort of limitation on the amount of dialogue that is written. I’m not saying, “West Seventh” [working title] won’t have dialogue, it will, but I’m pretty sure there won’t be much.

The last principle is VOICE. I found an article by the Writing Cooperative on what voice is… and what it isn’t:

“The writer’s voice doesn’t include only wording, grammar or structure: it’s much more. It’s the personal way the writer sees the world, how he translates it. We all see an orange the same way, however, when describing it, each one of us will use our own approach and perspective. I can describe its color, you, its texture, others its taste…It isn’t the writer’s writing style, it isn’t his technique, it isn’t his brand. The writer’s voice is not something you can measure, it’s subjective. But, even so, possible to be defined and identified.”

The way that I write, particularly creative non-fiction, is generally the way that I talk. Ingrid also drives home the idea of authenticity: she notes that it’s “easy to tell when a story doesn’t ring true,” and this is a fact – your readers are looking for something real; if you’re spotted as a fraud, you lose their trust.

Listening to my peers read their work during this workshop, made me a little insecure about my level of writing capabilities; some of them are very experienced.

I’ve been told that, the way to reach confidence in this area, is to keep writing.

It’s easy to spot your short comings when you’re playing the comparison game.

So don’t – their journey is not your journey; it’s likely that they may feel just as insecure as you do.

On my way back to the light rail, I felt more motivated. The fire that lay dormant inside me was lit. Since the workshop, I’ve made significant progress. I’m hopeful that, in terms of my writing, the remainder of 2019 will be just fine.

Mood Music: In Due Time - Outkast

Reset to Redirect.

July 11, 2019 in Goals, Memoir, Writing Techniques

Cascade Coffee Works

Yes, it has been awhile – grab a cup of coffee and let’s chat:

The anticipation of my dance recital has come and gone; it was both a thrilling and exhausting experience. TakePause offered a performance full of collaborations: modern dance, tap, ballet and sprinkles of hip hop.

Over half of the participants were in multiple pieces – namely those who were no stranger to this particular program. I, on the other hand, chose to participate in 1 piece as a precaution; I wasn’t sure what to expect and didn’t want to make a massive commitment.

My group’s performance was placed near the end of the 2-hour show. This meant I had to sit in a puddle of anxiety before my debut each night.

Friday was by far the best and most taxing: the kickoff show. Most would agree that this production put out an extraordinary amount of energy. From the instructors, students and the crowd - everyone was extremely HYPE. For the dancers on stage, this drove us to dance harder and smile wider, giving the people what they want.

My friends decided they would join the Friday evening crowd, showing their unyielding support by yelling my name and cheering me on.

The entire production reminded me of showcases I’ve previously been in: theater performances and choir ensembles from ninth grade through my senior year of college [I was in the “Vagina Monologues” twice!] I became energized by the chaos happening backstage – lots of hair spray, makeup, people practicing their routines in the hallway. Rouge, purple and blue eye shadow, fishnet stockings.

The dancers acted as marketers, engineers, accountants, public servants, retired teachers in their day to day lives; they all had varied levels of experience. Some were true beginners; others have been dancing for years.

Needless to say, by Sunday, I was ready to be done.

The remainder of May saw me entertaining an out-of-town cousin who came to visit Seattle and general research – personally and professionally – that will help lay the ground work for the rest of 2019.

In June, I took a mid-year trip home for 3.5 weeks – a much needed reprieve from fast life in the city. Before arriving in Iowa, I made a pit stop in Colorado to visit an old friend; we made space to reminiscence about our time as “Team Leads” at an Iowa based summer camp back in 2009. In between our long talks and meandering through Boulder, I was somehow convinced to tag along a hike at Estes Park - a beautiful excursion into the wonderment of nature.

Although I am not an outdoorsy person, I thought of this as a way to explore something new; I try to remain open minded. I also fell a few times on slick patches of snow – an unexpected surprise that left me with a giant bruise on my thigh. Lovely.

After my 3-day trip into the wild, I was ready for Iowa.

It felt good feel the presence of my parents – every time I return home, their aging becomes more and more evident. They ask me the same question they always do: “when are you moving back?”

I give them a blundering expression and respond with the usual: “I don’t know, yet.”

As enjoyable as it was, by the end of the 3 weeks, I was ready to leave – part of me sad, the rest missing my autonomy and anticipating summer which officially began June 21.

The first 6 months of the year have been hectic – everyone around me has been a bit worn down and to be honest, I wasn’t all that refreshed upon my return.

I thought I would have had more time in Iowa, quiet time, to write - I did not - instead, I spent those moments catching up and eating. There’s nothing wrong with that.

I spoke with my parents about my corporate career, book plans, blog plans, plans in general, so although I was missing that “refresh,” I thought I needed, I came back focused.

Maybe that was my version of refreshed?

I’ve made progress since returning to Seattle, however, when I sit down to write, facts, details and stories can become incredibly overwhelming. We’ve talked about this before. There. Is. Just. So. Much. To make it easier, I break everything into smaller, individual stories: my transition to Minneapolis, my brief stint in grad school, the stroke itself, the recovery, all of my “alternative rehabs,” [dance, acting classes] and the men that I dated in-between etc.

Who is involved? What happened? When? Where? Why?

[You know, the stuff I learned in Journalism 101 ions ago, ha].

I figured once I get the stories together, I can fill in the gaps with connection points that ultimately bring everything together. Wish me luck!

Mood Music: BabyBird - Chloe x Halle

She's a Dancing Machine.

April 30, 2019 in Memoir

El Diablo Coffee

I never write, in detail, about the coffee shops I visit – to be fair, there’s never much to say about these particular spaces. For the most part, they are designed in a standard and quite uniform manner. But this one is interesting.

I’m posted up in Queen Anne – El Diablo – inside a two story Victorian style house, embellished in gaudy trim. The name itself reminds me of something out of the “Addam’s Family,” but less macabre; the home is painted in salmon and white. It doesn’t exactly help, though, that a devilish painting greets you at the entrance.

Sitting in the open space on the second floor, the slanted ceilings house intermittent windows that shimmer God’s light.

I try to guess what this area used to be; I’m not well versed in Victorian architecture. I literally have no fucking idea. A make shift wall separates a group of well-coordinated tables and chairs from a bar. Just beyond the bar is a door leading to an outside deck. Freedom.

My dance recital is around the corner and to be completely honest, I’m kind of nervous. That shouldn’t come as much of a shock - most people, particularly those who are not trained in performance art - would feel the same. To be in front of a crowd, hundreds of people - to bare your soul on stage - takes a certain amount of courage. It’s been something I’ve wanted to explore since moving to Seattle. The last time I performed for an audience, was an Improv class I took in Minneapolis about a year or so after my stroke. The Arts have played a significant role in my overall healing process.

Dance.

Movement and music were my alternative versions of rehab: the dance instructor puts together choreographed routine that is repeated with each rehearsal – stag leaps, staggered movements, ronde de jambes in my case. Over and over again; it’s muscle memory. We breathe in unison. She calls our piece, “Rush”. It starts slow and is drawn out - there’s a sense of urgency that billow with each turn. Eventually the music flattens to a plateau and descends toward the end.

I watch the videos back and notice I look stiff. I don’t like this - it tells me I’m holding back somewhere. Loosen up. Trust your body. Feel the music. I get scared to make a mistake – I’ve done it before in rehearsal and roll my eyes, “ooooh my GOD!” I say under my breath and try to catch up where I’ve lost.

Write.

In terms of my continued writing, I’ve spent some time recounting life in my small apartment in Hopkins, MN. The memory is a strong one; it was the first time in my adult life, that I lived alone. I stayed in that tiny abode for about 3 years before relocating to Seattle. It was my place of refuge when I desperately needed it. I went back to the website of the property management company for research - it seems some things have changed, including the price. Yikes!

I made a point to remember some of the ups and downs in this [very] short passage below:

“She coined this phase: “Sex and the City” single. Ages 26-29; the broker, blacker version of Carrie in all of her flaws. Knollwood Towers: the ambit of much pain and great pleasure. Isolated nights, she sunk deep within her blankets to muffle her screams as her anxiety and depression bubbled to the surface. Chain smoking on the balcony in times of distress. Make out sessions, movie nights, I love you’s, I hate you’s. The antiquated vanilla cement-brick building was built in 1969 - each unit had a balcony attached either front facing or to the back. She paid a monthly rent of $650 that would later hop to $700 - utilities baked in, with one parking space in the garage. A flat fee of $100 gave her ample coverage during the harsh Minnesota winters and extra storage space for overflow of her belongings.”

Never forget. I’m interested to see what else I remember.

Mood Music: Gymnopédie No.1 - Erik Satie

Heart To Heart.

March 23, 2019 in Books, Goals

Realfine Coffee

Spring is coming. I can smell the newness emanating through the air. Everything is much brighter; sight and sound are in color. My apathy is waning. It’s a feeling that, I for one, have been anticipating for quite a while – I know I’m not alone.

Winter has been rough, not just here in Seattle, but around the country.

As the temperature steadily increases, I notice my motivation levels begin to rise again. I’m starting to do some re-evaluation of my book: big ideas have flooded into my periphery – they’re complicated.

In order for me to focus more on the larger picture, I’m going to have to scale down the post frequency of my blog. This will be OK – as of now, most of my readership are a collection of random men who either found my Instagram on any one of the dating apps I reluctantly participate in… or IG itself.

To Them I Say:

“Hey you *winky face* I see you reading my -ish. If you want the real tea, start here, and here.”

Or, perhaps, one of my fellow survivors stumbled into this matrix: “I love you – you will get through this! Start here .”

Or a random Googler, searching for more information on coffee: “Checkout my intro. *wink* - this is not what you think.”

My “awakening” has been, in part, sparked by the onset re-visitation of issues both mentally and in the physical form. This has kicked up a sense of “urgency” or rather a re-focus on what I’m trying to accomplish.

Over the Winter Season:

I have established a new care team in Seattle. My Neurologist is one of the best in the city – she has a stoic disposition that breezes by ‘warm welcomes’, but I trust her professional judgement. I should take a que from her and be more detached.

Her curiosity is pushing for a root cause after an MRA uncovered a problem area from the past. I’ve gone on to dredge up documents from my old team in Minneapolis and am now am sporting a temporary heart monitor for tracking.

Don’t worry – I’m not going to die, I just have to unravel a few things.

I recently decided to become more active in a few Facebook support groups – I’ve belonged to them for a while but have now started peeking my head inside to ask questions.

It Doesn’t Stop.

I’m continuing to pack my schedule by taking a modern dance class at a studio here in town; I’ve always been in love with movement and finding alternative ways to stay healthy.

I went into this with zero experience, which means I need the most amount of help. Extra classes on top of rehearsals, at home practice etc. The 12-week course includes a performance at the end - with my nerves, it easy to be scared shitless.

The idea was to try something original, stimulating, different, fun…unafraid of my body and what it can do.

Yes, it is a challenge – the spins and flips – but I find so much joy in dance: getting lost in the music and interpreting it the way I see fit.

Hopefully I’ll stick the choreography enough that I won’t look like a total noob onstage.

This summer, I want to dive into more diverse styles of dance: breaking, contemporary, hip-hop, salsa.

Point is: I have a lot of shit going on. I used to update ya’ll twice a month. Starting in April, I’ll be giving you a once-a-month update on my book progress, tips, interesting finds and life in general.

As far as the book itself, I will be putting in a little more time here and there – memories are starting to come back with less aggression. Sometimes I’ll get distracted, perusing Facebook or Instagram, searching for someone in particular that I’m writing about.

I want to see what they’re doing and how they are doing. Don’t judge me – you do it too!

Sooner or later it will all come together: mind, body and soul.

Mood Music: Bank Head - Kelela

Method to my Madness.

February 28, 2019 in Writing Techniques

Preservation Coffee & Tea

I had an entire post whipped up for mid-February, but unfortunately, it didn’t save. I ended up having to start over so I decided to scrap the mid-month entry.

Ugh. Anyway.

This year’s birthday trip took me down the coast to visit my family in Modesto, CA - they are recent transplants from Iowa and I was their very first visitor!

For 4 days, I was surrounded by 6 kids under 17, my adult cousin and his wife. I had a great time, but it was a not-so-subtle reminder that children are a massive undertaking that require customized attention for each individual knucklehead. The way my selfishness and lack of patience is currently set up….it’s going to be a minute, mom :)

The desire to absorbed into something familiar [and maybe a little bit warmer] came on the heels of the #seattlesnowpacalypse that caused disruption throughout the city. It was a bit unusual for this area; we don’t normally get snow like that.

Well, we did: about 4-8 inches in Seattle proper – a little more on the outskirts.

Now, for a true-blue Midwesterner, 4-6 inches? Child’s play.

From my perspective, the #snowpacalypse was a mere dusting - in Minneapolis, I would see up to 10 inches of nightly snowfall with negative degree temperatures for several weeks.

I scoffed at the PNW theatrics: a few hours prior to the first system [there were 3] the grocery stores were packed – meat, milk, bread? Gone. Lines to the back of the store. Instagram and Twitter feeds were flooded with pictures and videos of the madness.

You would’ve thought it was Y2K all over again!

Later that night, the City of Seattle put out a press release stating that they had about 36 plows for the whole city. 36. The second system moved in shortly after the first. The last came a few days later.

36 plows.

For an entire week, Seattle Public Schools were closed and it was heavily advised to stay off the road.

A lot of folks worked from home and maintained a limited social schedule: Seattle is already full of terrible drivers, add snow to the mix and you’re asking for a death sentence.

No ma’am.

What did that mean for me? I had a lot of free space to do some writing.

About a month ago, I consulted with my therapist when I was having difficulty with the manuscript – I would come across certain points in the story and freeze or get visibly upset.

She suggested that I create distance between myself and the events by basically writing in third person.

“You’re too close to it right now”.

I found this strategy interesting: remember way at the beginning of my writing journey when I was composing my memoir as a fiction novel, “loosely based” on real events [throwback posts here & here]? Yeah. The whole reason I had chosen to do that, was specifically to create distance – I knew this sort of visceral, emotional reaction would happen.

Once you crack open Pandora’s Box….

In 2016, I wasn’t quite ready to deal.

I took my therapist’s advice. Using “she”, “her” “them” and “they,” I have been able to punch out way more in a given space of time than normal. I find it easier to revisit certain events with this sort of separation intact.

I like this excerpt in particular:

“She was cleared by her neuro team to return back to Minneapolis - back to her former life, back to work, mid-March 2013. Her feelings were ambivalent; yes, it would be easier to stay in Iowa, live a humble life, follow the path of many of her peers. Work her way up at an insurance company surrounded by people who were unfamiliar with her current circumstance. Find a nice-enough man to marry. Have a baby. Buy a house. Be a mother. Raise some kids. Maybe take a vacation every so often. Her family is in Iowa. A familiar existence was within reach. She had the power to choose - her mother’s words continued to echo, piercing parts of her psyche that needed confirmation: “you have to go back and finish what you started. You have to go back and live.” She thought about certain things that she wanted to accomplish. The opportunities and experiences that she would miss. At 25, she was entering a second phase, a chapter that would require her to push harder than she ever had - for healing first. A challenging road lie ahead. Her brain did not operate in the same way it previously had: memories were shorter, comprehension was slower, words took more time to find. On March 11th 2013 - her mother’s birthday - she made the trek back to the “Minnie Apple”. “Black Betty” was loaded with her things: a couple of suitcases filled with clothes, a computer bag, books, folders full of files, notebooks and the like. Her parents asked her to call at their usual halfway point - the rest stop at the Minnesota entry. Her old friend was waiting. The road down I-95 N that had become routine, would now lead her to a strange new world.”

When I get to the editing process, I’ll have to go back and revise the narrative prospective - for now, it’ll do!

Mood Music: Walking On The Moon - Cas Haley

Ready. Set. Goals [2019].

January 31, 2019 in Goals

Little Oddfellows Coffee

The intensity of December bled into January: although the tension of the holidays slowly started to wane, the whirlwind of it all could still be felt throughout the impending month.

January 1st was amazing in ways I can’t fully explain: the year literally started with an explosion, however, once I threw water on the blast…the fire died. I had to move on.

No time for quarreling – more important people, places and brain scans to worry about.

It wasn’t until recently that I took the time to reflect on the major milestones [and failures] that occurred in 2018.

Yes, I wrote my annual goal board the morning of January 1st. I do this every year: things that I want to accomplish, habits I want to put in place etc.

But taking a minute to have real, honest reflection? I woke up in the middle of the night – this isn’t unusual, my room had gotten warm – only to look up from my pool of sweat and stare at the wall in contemplation. Then go to the bathroom.

This was my time.

First and foremost, my Costa Rica trip was one of my biggest exploits of 2018 - it came with a quiet nervousness that plagued me the entire trip. Between the language barrier and the general unease of being alone in a foreign country, I learned a few things:

Solo travel outside the US is not for me; I like to share the experience. And the responsibility.
Brush up on the language, bruh. C’mon. Common sense.
Just ask. Someone will help you.
People are much, much happier with less: between the locals who operate with, in my opinion, the bare minimum to the travelers passing through with just a few items – who is really winning?

My massage therapist was a Miami native who left Florida – she was deeply unhappy with her life and wanted a “do-over”. The young woman moved to Costa Rica, started her own business as a single mother and now enjoys the ease and comfort of the small-town, coastal life. #Getitgurl.

It is totally possible for me to try new things and be fearless, but:
My anxiety is a real thing.
It is hot as balls is Central America.
I must lean-in or step into my truth – this became the impetus for change of direction with my book [recap of that adventure, here].

I returned to the states unscathed, refreshed and relieved. So much so, that I took the plunge and cut my hair - the relaxer had to go!

Don’t worry, I had been thinking about doing it for months! Read my afterthoughts, here.

Did I get through 80% of my book? Hell no. It took me a couple of months [*cough* 5] to even crack the laptop open after my decision to pivot.

The beginning of 2018 was eaten up by preoccupation with “the move”: my roommate and I left one part of the city for another. We spent months attempting to find a place that was practical for the both of us: Truilia, Zillow and Craigslist listings be damned! We found our happy medium. Flashback to that drama, here.

With a series of unfortunate back to back events rounding out fall to winter, I crashed right into my Grandmother’s death in December.

2018 was…a hot ass mess to be honest.

In 2019, I propose a turn-around.

It may be easier said than done though: January has been…interesting. Good part: I’ve found space to write, gaining clarity within the story. The therapy helps.

I was listening to the “Happier with Gretchen Rubin” podcast, episode 201: she talks about having a one-word theme for the year – I’ve heard of this concept before.

One word that you can repeatedly comeback to, throughout the year – a reminder of your overall goal. My word for this year is: Focus.

The first draft of my book can and will get done with Focus.

I can create discipline with Focus.

For the LOVE OF GOD, I can legitimately find a writer’s group with Focus [and motivation].

Still working on finding that writer’s group. It’s on my list every year. Ugh.

Baby steps. Pray for me, ya’ll.

Mood Music: The Glow - Victoria Monet

Recalibrate.

January 15, 2019 in NaNoWriMo

Slate Coffee Roasters

I had to take a little hiatus at the end of October; it was unexpected. The initial plan was to complete a stellar NaNo – that was a fail. Whomp. NaNoWriMo kicked my whole entire ass in 2018.

I used the majority of my NaNo time, to do more organizing of the story [jotting down ideas and producing a sort of storyboard-esque vision] and less writing.

In terms of word count, the results weren’t great guys. I got up to maybe 2,000. Ugh.

I’m reminded, yet again, of NaNo 2016 – that fall I broke up with my toxic ex, America was set aflame and I decided to hug a pack [or two] of L&M Menthol 100s.

Back then, I was able to push through; I needed a distraction from all of the calamity happening around me. NaNo was my outlet. If I recall correctly, 2016 was the first year I decided to participate. I wanted to prove to myself that my ex nor the incoming Commander-In-Cheeto could stop me. I came out strong – that blog post is here.

In 2018…not so much. Unfortunately, the attempt to reach my personal goal of 10,000 words was futile – I had way too much going on, including some health issues and the death of my Grandmother that made it difficult to produce. My heart wasn’t in it. My mind wasn’t focused.

Good News: after spending some much needed time in Iowa with my family, I feel a lot better. More relaxed, more inspired, more centered. I spent two weeks in the trenches of a rural encampment [well, not really, just my parents house, literally in the middle of nowhere]. Point is: no traffic, no lights, no sirens. Nothing but stars and cows.

Truth be told, I was at this coffee shop for my NaNo post back in October. O’well.

The first week of my stay was somber. Most of my paternal side was in a dismal place as we mourned the loss of Grandma Ruthie. Even now as I write this, it doesn’t seem real. You always think you will have people, until you don’t. I was sure we would have her another 10 years.

I miss my Grandma, dearly. She was widowed in 1994 when my Grandpa died of cancer. Shortly after, her mood switched; she was never quite the same. Ruthie was a cantankerous woman – I’m sure my natural irritability comes from that side of the family. She was also brazen, loved the outdoors and showed ardent fearlessness, having spent her young adulthood in a post-war, Jim Crow era when things were certainly separate, but nowhere near equal.

Grandma didn’t take no shit and could back it up with her quip-y comebacks.

She gave zero of the fucks.

Grandpa James was the only one that could soothe her – when he passed, Ruthie’s ruthlessness, worsened. She was angry with him for leaving and spent the next 24 years taking it out on everyone within a 2 mile radius. We loved her regardless, but Grandma was a very complicated woman.

In 2016, she was admitted to an assisted living facility and hated every minute of it. She had to be moved to different residences throughout metro Iowa. Ruthie was a difficult for the staff to deal with.

Sidebar: as an adult, I recognize that a large part of my personality comes from my father, which by extension, comes from her. Slightly neurotic, aggy, and almost always pessimistic. Except when I drink: at that point, I’m giggly and overly affectionate. I love to knock back a blonde ale or sip a super gingery moscow mule.

Ruthie was miserable and had, had enough. In 2018, she saw the eyes of her grandchildren…all 8 of us. And her own children too – including the one in Minneapolis who she fought tirelessly for years over things that no longer matter.

I honestly think older folk know when it’s time; they can feel it in their soul.

She died December 5th 2018. It was decided that her funeral would be held on her birthday – December 15th.

Blood red casket. Stylish ensemble with a matching church hat.

Get it Grandma! She wouldn’t want it any other way.

The weather was unusually nice – warm and sunny in mid-December. With the exception of the latter half of the second week [if you follow me on IG, you may have caught my little “incident” involving a rental car and a mud pit] the whole of my trip saw gorgeous, clear skies!

Week 2 was a little less depressing; the majority of my days were spent shuffling through terrible reality TV, attempting to find space to see friends and other family from my mother’s side…and Tinder swiping. My Dad had the nerve to ask: “So are you having fun with that?”

Ugh. Daddy?!

I digress.

Babies are no longer babies – we have high school graduates and a handful on the edge of entering those tragic years. Voices have dropped 4 octaves, hair is longer, boyfriends are now in the picture. Time is a-flying. My cousins who I remember as children are full blown teenagers! Acne and all, ha.

I miss so much of their transitions being on the west coast!

Now that I’m back in Seattle, I’m settling in to the new year with a new[ish] mindset – it’s time to get this show back on the road.

Mood Music: In A Sentimental Mood - Duke Ellington & John Coltrane

Truth Slayer: Finding Your Voice

October 31, 2018

Stone Way Cafe

In this last recap of Mary Karr’s “The Art of Memoir,” I wanted to hone in on authentic truth-telling, i.e. finding your voice. I talked about this topic before in a previous post, here – the point was to talk specifically about the mechanical aspects of expression; to tap into your flow, which closely aligns with uncovering your voice.

In chapter 4, “A Voice Conjures the Human Who Utters It,” Karr articulates what she defines as “voice”:

“Voice isn’t just a manner of talking. It’s an operative mindset and a way of perceiving that naturally stems from feeling oneself alive inside the past. That’s why self-awareness is so key. The writer who’s lived a fairly unexamined life – someone who has a hard time reconsidering a conflict from another point of view – may not excel at fashioning a voice because her defensiveness stands between her and what she has to say,” [p.36-37].

People are layered and complicated. Looking back presents an opportunity to confront the past and step into the shit that is your truth.

I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of and I’m terrified to let the world take a peek – partly in fear of judgement, but as Karr says:

“…the more memorable the voice, the truer a book sounds because you never lose sight of the narrator cobbling together his truth – not everybody’s agreed on version,” [p. 41].

I’ll heed her advice when retelling one of many personal defining moments in post-adolescence: temptation and curiosity that summon my own naivete – a marker of the end of a proverbial chapter and the beginning of the next. The way that this anecdote unfolded was cowardice, but there is a greater lessen here.

This is when I discovered that my twenties were not meant to be an “us” thing. It was meant as a “me" thing – I was going to have to go at it alone. I needed to be selfish. I understood, on a surface level, that I didn’t want to be tied down. I also understood that it was not my place to force my dreams onto someone else. The only thing I didn’t understand, was how to execute appropriately. I didn’t have the guts or the language.

At the time, I was new to the city and had been staying in the basement of a family in Bloomington, MN. My boyfriend Aiden* and I had decided that it would be easier if I moved in with someone on a month-to-month basis, while I wait for his arrival. This meant that we would continue our long-distance relationship for a little while longer.

I had a curious fervor to explore all of the things I had been missing in Iowa, which in hindsight, is kind of comical considering Minneapolis is a third/fourth tier city. Everything is relative, I guess. From my humble perspective, the city would offer me a more colorful type of experience. Des Moines was too familiar and lacked job opportunity with career growth.

Well before I made the move [initiated by my acceptance into a grad program], I toyed with the idea of Chicago or even Kansas City. Minneapolis made the most sense: the school I wanted to go to was there, my job had an office in Bloomington as did my boyfriend’s company. We had been doing the long-distance thing for over a year – this would be our chance to physically be in the same space again.

It felt like the universe was giving me clear direction: Cake. Platter. Go.

So I did.

A cousin of mine was in undergrad playing football at the same university as my graduate program.

Over the course of several months, I got to know his social circle – a group of brawny, stout football players – most of whom were under 5’9 and cared more about sex and booze then studying. I should have known better. There was one that I was drawn to – shipped straight from Brooklyn, NY. He couldn’t have been more different from my boyfriend: Dominican and athletic, barely stringing together a sentence.

Terry* was a super, super senior – he gave credence to the term “dumb jock” but had the type of masculine prowess and “swag” that Aiden didn’t.

[I later found out that Terry’s super, super, super senior status came from him having to drop for a year or two to help his family back in NYC].

I heard through the grapevine that Terry was smitten with me. Everyone knew that I was in a relationship with some “white boy” but no one cared enough to respect those boundaries. Through a series of orchestrated events, he and I found ourselves at the same parties, same bars and same clubs that ultimately led to a tryst; my infidelity that contributed to the destruction of the plan that Aiden and I had. If I am being honest, I wanted to breakup with him and needed an out.

Shortly after our intoxicating night with Terry, I immediately called one of my cousins back in Iowa, sobbing at what had taken place. I knew I had fucked up.

My cousin told me that it would be OK and that I should consider telling him.

I didn’t know how.

Aiden and I met up in Iowa the following weekend – it was the halfway point for us, since he still lived on the Illinois side of the Quad cities. I had a fun weekend planned, but it was halted when I decided to break up with him in the middle of the night. I woke up bleary-eyed and told him it wasn’t working anymore; I pretended to be talking in my sleep. I wasn’t quite sure he heard me - he did and attempted to wake me up to discuss.

I rolled over and whispered, “it’s nothing. I didn’t say anything. Go back to bed”.

He knew I was lying.

The next morning, he packed his shit and left. We didn’t speak for weeks.

When everything cooled down, we were able to have a lengthy exchange about what happened: I don’t remember the specifics of the conversation - who initiated what, how long it lasted etc. I just knew the relationship was done and that chapter was over.

Aiden and I were together for 1.5 years.

Karr states multiple times throughout her book, that you cannot deceive your audience; it’s not going to work. Period. The reader will know you’re bullshitting,

“If the reader intuits some deception or kink in the writer’s psyche that he can’t admit to, it erodes the scribbler’s authority,” [p.37].

Part of what makes writing a memoir so difficult, is reliving and reflecting on the not-so-fun chunks.

I’m almost certain that Aiden is doing well, living life and is in a happy long-term relationship, somewhere in small-town Illinois [I Facebook stalked]. Good for him. He is a simple man who desired a simple life.

Clearly, that was not going to work for me.

Mood Music: Retrograde - James Blake

*not real names

#FakeNews?

October 15, 2018 in Organization, Research

Zoka Coffee Roasting

Since the decision to remix my book from fiction to memoir, I’ve had to revisit my original outline. Starting over is annoying, but necessary – particularly in this case, because the type of content I’m creating is completely different than what I initially envisioned.

After several months of hunting, I have finally found a new Therapist. Round of applause: it literally took all summer, multiple visits, insurance conflicts, denials and then some, to find a suitable fit who happens to be in close proximity.

She [I’m going back to a woman] will be the benefactor in helping me work through some of the core challenges I have come across while writing this book.

I’m incredibly excited [and undoubtedly nervous] to bust open the proverbial, “Pandora’s Box.”

I started the “information gathering” stage a couple of weeks back [if I’m being real, I tapped into this process months ago] – sitting down to, first just simply remember relevant events from 2012 – early 2018; basically, a large chunk of my post-college 20’s.

Journals, various relics [brain scans, medical bills, get-well cards], Facebook messages [I’ve talked about using those before: here, here and here ] all collected to be put in order:

What happened? When? Who was involved? Outcome? How did this lead to that?

I am my father’s daughter: like him, I keep everything. Honestly, I should probably scrap book this -ish. I’m far too lazy and not nearly nested enough to undertake that sort of project.

As I am at the coffee shop finishing up the timeline, I try not to tear up at the overwhelming memories that come to the surface. I repeat to myself [in the form of a mantra]: “you will not cry in public – knock it off!” I’m moved by The Weeknd’s “Call Out My Name”, whispering from the Are&Be Spotify playlist. It ends and the track flips to Drake’s “In My Feelings” …can’t cry to that shit.

Remembering The Details: Flashback.

Names and in some cases, dates and events can be difficult to recall. I write as much as I can recapture from memory, in a way that makes sense for the scene [or…how I want that scene to be perceived]. At times, I’m unsure if I can trust my own mind, especially given the irony of having gone through a brain injury.

From Chapter 13, “On Information, Facts and Data,” Mary Karr provides her take:

“My own first drafts start with information, then I try to herd that information out of my head into a remembered or living scene. I often interview myself about how I came to an opinion. Then, rather than present an abstract judgement, I try to recreate how I came to that opinion,” [p.124].

I agree with her perspective, however, the idea of “interviewing” myself from scene-to-scene immediately invokes a visceral, emotional response, that has, in the past, pushed me away from doing this…

…hence why a Therapist is incredibly important as I move through this process.

Issalot, man. It really is.

I literally bring my laptop into sessions: we goin’ get this shit out. Don’t get it twisted, I make effective use of my time with her and take notes to refer to later.

What’s interesting to me, is trying to reconfigure people’s energy in my mind: conversations we would have, how they look, how they smell, phrases they would use or things they would say -- this is where technology and social media relics come in handy [because nobody is out here writing letters anymore…tuh!].

Karr suggests to, “try to find something singular and dramatic a person does, instead of just gluing on a label that limits meaning to present day fashion and won’t make sense fifty years hence,” [p.125].

I distinctly remember my landlord who I lived with in St. Paul: she had an older brother out in Maryland; they owned the Minnesota house where I stayed. The two of them came into some money to restore the home and converted it into an apartment when their dead-beat Dad died and left them a stack.

My landlord was a mousey, woman in her early 30’s with a bad dye job, stringy hair and thin rimmed glasses. Her style came from Hot Topic – baggy jeans and band t-shirts – the stuff made of emo/pop punk acts of the late 90s/ early 2000s.

Her behavior was very regressed – it’s like she never matured passed 17. Her brother was a few years younger but acted more of an adult then she did. She was both quiet and whiny – easily swindled into doing whatever we wanted her to.

She had a bizarre fascination with Japanese dolls and Nintendo video games; her room was lined with them. Together, we lived with several other people in a 2-story house, including a 50-something year old woman who slept on the sofa, chain smoked and didn’t pay rent. Back when I used to partake, I would bum cigs from her now and again.

Stories for days; that house was crazy.

Point is, I still have emails upon emails, texts stored in old phones and IMs to help bring the past to the present.

Sidebar: these are not items I’m using for retribution. Yes, I care and have my Therapist around to help work through those things, but it’s been 6 years. It’s not about seeking vengeance – it’s about understanding why what happened did, and how I can learn from it. There is a domino effect at play and I’m trying to find out at what point it got pushed.

Karr leaves us with this: “In any good memoir, the writer tries to meet the reader where she is by offering information in the way it is felt -- to reflect the writer’s inner values and cares either in clever linguistic form or dramatic scene,” [p.127].

My landlord was obsessed with Fallout Boy – I remember thinking, “you’re still listening to that?” I used to be into them…in High School. This was 2012. I graduated in 2006 and she was at least 32.

I was also kind of judge-y back then. Ha. In her defense, FOB had some bops.

Mood Music: Dance, Dance - Fallout Boy

Honesty Is The Best Policy.

September 09, 2018 in Books, Podcasts, Strategy

Tin Umbrella Coffee

Inside: Tin Umbrella. Came Thru Drippin'. [Definitely a Cardi B reference. Ha].

I’ve had so many drafts of this blog post ready to go - at least 2 or 3 - before I decided to scrap them. Truth be told, the coffee shop listed is one I visited a few weeks ago; I was going to use it for my August 15th post that never happened. Whomp, whomp.

Since I skipped the month of August, I decided to give you September's post a little bit early :)

This summer has been a massive question mark as I’ve been in an organizing kind of mode, trying to get my life together – particularly after the rigmarole of The Move.

Figuring out a sustainable work/life balance, family, self-care, attempting to have a social life and dating here and there is quite exhausting. I can confidently say, that once again, my energy is scattered.

And yeah, that dating thing? Don’t even get me started…

…whoo chile…

I had a better time in the Midwest. Most of those boys run a tight ship [they take it more seriously] and their game is much smoother; they even come with manners. Polite sons-of-bitches.

Out here, there are certainly more pieces of candy to choose from – the expensive, vegan or dairy free kind, that is – and those options exist on both sides. This city is ripe with crunchy granola's who went to fancy universities, have multiple degrees and have been coding since the age of 4. It’s literally the devil’s playground for the sheepish nerds [the cute ones] who couldn’t get laid in high school. Lots of money to make, even more to blow.

It’s a bit overwhelming for a person like myself; I’m not so used to the flakiness and general apathy of the people I come across. Yeesh!

But anyway, this is not a dating post.

One win:

Amid all of the hubbub, I discovered a chicken chain that I really enjoy! I have been frequenting their establishment more than I probably should.

Hey, a win is a win…

To offset my shitty eating habits, I hired a Personal Trainer.

...until it’s not.

My wallet cries, but this body will be snatched.

Now that summer is ending, I think I’ll have more time to focus. I’m making it my business to focus. We’re going to finish out 2018 strong.

I have [finally] constructed a writing space for myself: I discovered that writing in my bed is…unproductive. I used to revel in the fact that I could lay in bed with a bag of Doritos, Vh1 in the background and pound out my stories. My bed was my safe space to create.

8 years later, meh. Not so much. When I get in bed, I want to sleep. Or have sex. But mostly sleep.

The benefit is 2-fold: I also needed a space to work. Like, 9-5 work. Working from the kitchen table becomes an arduous, somewhat annoying task when you have to set up and break down every damn day. Ugh.

So, I bought a desk straight from Ikea. It’s cheap. It’s cute. It gets the job done. I didn’t have space in my car to purchase directly from the store, so I ordered it online and had it delivered.

She came and I was thrilled at the idea of putting this fucker together. I had my podcast picked out, tools ready to go, coffee in hand..

I am woman, hear me roar!

...until Ikea decided to jip me out of a handful of pieces.

I ended up making an impromptu trip to the giant retailer, arriving early in an effort to miss the crowd. Ta! This girl spent about 45 minutes running through the horde of young families and their annoying children to find a bundle of “close-enough” pieces that would help complete the project.

All-in-all, it took most of the afternoon [and 3 episodes of the Flagrant 2 podcast] to get the desk set up. But I did. Boo-Yow. Now I just roll out of bed, shower, start the coffee, and get straight to it.

The next couple of posts will be a deep dive into my favorite chapters from Mary Karr’s, “The Art of Memoir” – I’m finding it to be incredibly helpful in my writing journey. It was recommended by someone on Twitter. During one of my Amazon excursions, I said “fuck it” and threw it in the cart along with a random assortment of beauty products [I’m trying out a new skin care regime].

There is a very short, 2-page chapter called, “On Finding the Nature of Your Talent” [p.101] . You can’t fake the funk when you’re writing a memoir – it requires an enormous amount of honesty with oneself.

[Hence my use of very good Therapist and why I find it so important].

It requires authenticity – your readers will know, you will know, if you’re being a poser. [Haven’t heard that word in a while, huh?].

Self-knowledge and ownership are key. Lean wit it // Rock wit it. Or Lean In – whatever. Own it. And be brave enough to share it.

If you’re trying to come to the table with a fake-ass version of who you think you are, it will read as disingenuous. You’ll lose sight of your own story, trying to control the image.

Karr asks these questions [p.102]:

What do people usually like and dislike about you? You should reflect both aspects in your pages.
How do you want to be perceived and in what ways have you been false or posed as other than who you are?
Is there a verbal signpost you can look for that suggests you’re posturing?

In short: how are you trying to appear? The author of a lasting memoir manages to power past the initial defense, digging past the false self to where the truer one waits to tell the more complicated story.

With a glass of wine in hand, here we go:

Like: I am empathetic [for the most part]. I laugh a lot. Fun. I have a big heart. Dislike: irritable, shut down, judgmental, too emotional, negative, contrarian.
Confident in my abilities, smart, dynamic individual // Sometimes, I can be a know-it-all and full of resentment.
????

I can answer questions 1 & 2 [can’t give away my secrets with #3].

Maybe it’s time to #levelup and make a change. We'll see.

Mood Music: Feels Like Summer - Childish Gambino

...And The Livin' Is Easy.

July 15, 2018 in Goals, Time Management

All City Coffee

Summer has officially arrived – and thank GOD. Like Minneapolis, Seattle only gets 4-5 solid months of clear, sunny weather. This poses a bit a problem when it comes to writing - at least for me. I’m less likely to spend my time isolated, ruminating over past events for my memoir, when a rooftop happy hour is on the docket.

I’m 30, flirty and thriving - “suns out/guns out” or however that saying goes, right? I’d rather “seize the day” at a beach, wonder around the streets of Cap Hill or bounce from vendor to vendor at music festival while I can.

But if I’m truely honest with myself, I will admit that I am a little apprehensive – it’s still challenging for me to work inward and backward: I talk about that struggle here.

There are certainly times I don’t feel like rehashing the event – it's depressing and quite frankly, I have some lingering anger and insecurity [most of which is because I still and will continue to wrestle with the residual effects of a hemorrhagic stroke, but you know. Whatever].

I want to remain in my bubble. I want to float.

It is going to take some deep, deep work with my therapist to really gut everything…and I’m not ready.

Unfortunately, the immediate stressors of The Move, interpersonal relationships and career stuff [for lack of a better term] ate up a lot of time in my sessions these past few months.

As my therapist, *Dan would let me guide the direction of the sessions [as he should] and because of the urgency of the items listed, we would often stay there. Basically, I had a lot of shit going on that needed solving and didn’t really have the mental energy to get into the past.

In the meantime, between time, I’ve got some prep work to-do:

The Move took me to another part of the city that may only be 8 miles away from where I was, but in traffic, could take a day’s journey to reach Dan.

What does this mean? Well, unfortunately, I have to find a new therapist – ok, I don’t have to, but if I stayed, we wouldn’t see each other as often. That’s not going to work for the kid. #itsohard2saygoodbye.

Ugh. It took me forever to find Dan -- I have enjoyed working with him, but I am a person of convenience: he doesn’t have weekend availability and seeing him every 6-7 weeks when I go get my braces tightened, will only work for so long.

[His office is nearby my Orthodontist for those who are wondering].

So add, "the search" to my giant list of things that desperately need to get done. Perhaps when the sun goes down for the season?

As I’m settling into my new spot, in a more “colorful” neighborhood [amazing mountainous views included], I think about how I fully plan to remain committed to the goal – believe me, when I’m not working on the book, I think about it. I’m always reminded that this is a story that needs to be told. It just takes a lot for me to bring it out and that’s ok. Lord help me. Ha.

Mood Music: Summertime - Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

*not real name

End of month Update.

May 25, 2018

The Station

Hello Reader(s):

So. Life has happened: I’m dealing with a move again AND I have a big work conference to prepare for in June, down in Orlando. As a result, a break is needed from blogging, while I sort things out. i.e. run-around-the city-to-try-and-find-a-new-place-to-live-in-between-freaking-out-over-my-on-camera-debut.

Eek! Housing is ridiculous in Seattle.

Don’t worry, I’ll be back late June or early July when I am more settled (and less anxious).

Btw, this coffee shop I’m at is too cute 😊

Cheers!

Mood Music: The Big Big Beat - Azealia Banks

Do You Remember The Time?

April 30, 2018 in Writing Exercises, Writing Techniques, Organization, Character Development

QED Coffee

A couple of things: I cut all of my hair off. Well, not completely, but damn near. And I got a nose piercing. Again. [I’ve had it done twice before].

I look markedly different. I guess. I had been wanting to cut my hair for a while – years actually. My strands were heavily damaged and I was sick of getting relaxers.

There were many times I would attempt to go natural and grow the relaxer out, only to have to deal with two different textures of hair.

In a fit of annoyance, I went on to continue spending another $60-80 on a perm.

Rinse and repeat.

At the top of 2018, I said, “fuck it.”

[Kind of. I did months of research on what to expect [lots of articles and YouTube videos]. Black hair can be beasty if you don’t really know what you’re working with. I had never really seen my hair in all of its' glory – all of the spirals, springs and coils – because social conditioning that tells us our hair is “bad” and “unkempt.” ].

In January I decided to grow my relaxer out one last time.

My anxiety was on high alert as I sat in the stylist’s chair for the big chop. I knew this was something I wanted to do – I just didn’t know what to expect.

Now, I could have done this myself; chop my own hair, but I am not at all handy with scissors.

Outside  QED - this place is quite small! — Outside QED - this place is quite small!

I showed him pictures of what I was thinking – a tapered cut. Longer on top, shorter on the sides.

He assured me it would look great.

“Are you ready?” He held a small chunk of my hair in one hand, cutting shears in the other.

“Yeah. Cut it.”

My breathing dramatically pulsated with every snip, until most of my hair covered the floor.

When he finished, I was stunned.

I still looked like me, but a different version of me.

It’s been a month. I like it.

Not going to lie though, this whole thing has been a process: the first time I went out to a social event, I was apprehensive. To my surprise [and comfort] the cut was well received.

As bad as it sounds: I felt like I needed the validation – cutting your hair really fucking short is a big deal. At least for me. It’s a bold move, man.

It was at this particular outing, that I carried on a flirtatious rendezvous with one of the band members on the dance floor - we had met before and I wondered what he would think of my new do’.

He dug it and later asked me out on a date.

We ended up going for food the following week; he ended up, unfortunately, reminding me of my ex.

Hard. Pass.

Nice guy. Fun vibe, but nah.

This holds some sort of relevance, I promise!

In one of the writing manuals I’m reading, “Self-Made of Words: Crafting a Distinctive Persona in Non-Fiction Writing,” by Carl H. Klaus, he presents a writing exercise that calls for the reader to write a short piece on a memorable experience.

Sidebar: Carl H. Klaus is the founder of the pretigious University of Iowa Nonfiction Writing Program! Go Iowa!

Anyway: the idea was to reveal your personal thoughts and feelings in an effort to be self-revelatory:

“…only you can determine what you’re willing to reveal about your private thoughts and feelings. Yet self-revelation is so important an element in creating and projecting yourself that I can hardly ignore it.” [p.16].

Thanks to the triggering of the date, I wrote about my ex and the glorious [sarcasm] night we broke up.

Recalling this event was slightly traumatic, ha. But, I suppose I better get used to it – I’ll be revisiting a lot of memories that aren’t comfortable.

The book itself is about creating a sense of self in your writing: your persona, point-of-view – the discovery and projection. It’s…a little confusing, but I think I get it.

How I write my blog, my projections, style of writing and POV, are slightly different than how I pen an interview or a blog for work – that sort of thing.

I struggle with finding a voice or, at least being consistent with that voice.

Like a lot of things in life…I’m testing the waters.

Mood Music: Down in Mexico - The Coasters

Everyone Should Have A Therapist*

April 15, 2018 in Writing Techniques

Union Coffee

*If you can afford to do it. I understand that there are people who do not have the means to access this type of resource. My hope for the future is that this will change.

Back in 2016, I remember having a conversation with an ex, where I casually told him during pillow talk that I was “going to go back to therapy”.

He corrected me: “Back? No, you get to go to therapy.”

It gave me pause.

“You right, you right,” I nodded.

Therapy, in essence, was/is a privilege.

I had a full-time job with awesome benefits that paid for **Sarah to walk me through my crisis so I could stop "harassing" my family with meltdowns.

I can be quite the chatty patty, at times over analyzing everything.

My mother and sister both assured me that my incessant bellyaching didn't bother them much, but damn – I’m self-aware enough to know when they need a break. I paid [or my insurance paid] for me to whine on Sarah’s sofa for an hour every other week.

I looked at her as more of a friend, less of a Therapist.

Every time we attempted to pull back another layer, I would start crying and she would ease up [or the allotted time had come to a close]. Most of what we discussed would be forgotten for the upcoming session.

Sarah was friendly, humble and offered great objective guidance, but I needed more. She had a soft, gentle approach and practiced cognitive-behavioral methodology infused with spiritual nuance [if you were OK with that]. It was difficult for me to take her as seriously as I should have, in part because I was only 40% ready to dig in and do the dirty work.

I adored her but her follow up game was weak.

Simply put: she was a very nice lady with a fabulous ear. My level of stubbornness and active avoidance required something a bit more…aggressive/straight forward. “Soft” doesn’t really work for me.

I kept seeing her because I liked her, she was dependable and let me do my thing without reproach.

Anytime something "major" would happen:

"Oh? Ok - wait until Sarah hears about this bullshit. I'm PISSSSSSSSED!"

I was sad to let her go and we were both teary eyed at my last session.

After settling into Seattle, one of the things on my to-do list was to find a new Therapist.

I wanted to continue the work that Sarah started and vowed to be more open this go-around. As the whirlwind of a breezy, exciting summer in a new city was ending, I started coming down off of my high. I missed my family and had experienced one-too-many dating disappointments. Suddenly, I began spiraling into a slow depression.

Let’s not forget - I was also on the precipice of 30 and having several… “moments”.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkk.

This is where having a good roommate comes in handy; I feel like it could have been dramatically worse than what it was. She is an angel – I got super lucky with this one.

A month of emails and phone calls led to my elixir. He came as a surprise – I’ll admit I was a bit skeptical. I had never had a male Therapist before, let alone a white male Therapist.

You can probably feel the massive eye roll I had at the beginning.

The whole racial/gender relatability factor was [and still is] a big deal to me.

I am a black woman.

I initially tried to find a black female Psychologist, but in the Seattle area, they are like purple unicorns. I kept running up against issues:

Not accepting new clients
Don't take my insurance [I guess UHC isn’t popular out here? I’m not balling like that to pay out of pocket. This was a HUGE one]
Undesirable location [too far to drive during 9 to 5 hours/traffic becomes an problem]
Rigid scheduling [I can't get a Saturday? Sarah used to take me on Saturdays. Hmphf!]

If you think finding a black woman Therapist is hard, try black males: impossible. No. Dice.

SMH. Ya’ll, we need to work on this.

I mean, damn: you would have had a reliable, consistent client in me, fam.

I. Do. Not. Play. About. My. Therapy. On time. Every time. AND I have good insurance.

What a bummer. O’well, I guess.

[sidebar: I didn’t want an online Therapist: there’s something unique about in-person sessions. I am currently a remote employee for a tech company - enough of my life is spent communicating with people over the internet and through Skype].

I have who I have and I appreciate the professional relationship that we’ve established. He pushes me in ways Sarah did not and encourages me to go beyond my comfort level.

**Dan IS follow up type of guy: he will circle back and ask questions from 3 sessions ago. Sometimes he and I will spar, but not in a combative, negative way.

In the context of mental health counseling, his level of empathy is something I’ve never experienced before.

I understand and he understands that he will never get it at 100%, but he puts in a lot of effort to try and help me, the absolute best way he can.

What Does This Mean for My Memoir?

I want to arrive at the point where I can tell the story [in detail] and not get visibly upset. I’m getting closer – even though I still get choked up, there are parts that I recognize as amusing.

I fucking hate reliving December 19th, 2012.

It’s irksome because there are unanswered questions around some of the people involved.

I have to come to terms with the fact that I may never get closure.

There’s also the fact that my disease is intangible and very few can truly register what it feels like; it will continue to wreak havoc on my mind and body for the rest of my life.

In a previous post, I’ve waxed poetic about having to back into situations and piece them together for this book; not just the incident itself, but how the occurrence ultimately re-framed my life at a critical point in time.

There is a clear demarcation; an obvious shift: pre/post stroke.

Having a Therapist helps puuuull this out of me.

Somewhere I read that there are people who believe writing a memoir should not use as a therapy – I obviously do not subscribe to that line of thinking.

I 1000% need the push and I’m down to use whatever assistance I can.

I had a real productive session not too long ago. Dan suggested that I go home and write more about it since I was already in the zone.

My response:

“I wish. I actually have to go back to work”.

Excuses, excuses. We're getting there.

Mood Music: We Ain't Homies - Arin Ray

**not real names

Step-By-Step, Day-By-Day...

March 31, 2018

Caffe Vita

I’ve been free-styling for the past few weeks – my strategy right now, is to not really have one. That almost never works out for me.

I'm rolling back the clock 6 years (2012 - 2018).

In numerology, the number 6 represents balance and healing. Protection and nurture. Love and responsibility – all of the things that were beginning to unravel.

I’m trying to tap into retrospection and remember a handful of significant stories from the ages of 24 to 30. There is an obvious, marked line of demarcation between the time of my brain hemorrhage and post-stroke life. Part of creating the story is connecting the dots and reflecting on those moments, irrespective of the difficulty. You’re looking at it with new eyes.

In the Reader’s Digest article, “How to Write Your Memoir”, author Joe Kita agrees,

“Writing about your life is also about coming to a fresh understanding of it at an age when you probably think you know yourself pretty well… Threading related experiences together, you see a pattern in the quilt of your existence. It’s about creating a legacy that doesn’t have dollar signs in front of it but has far greater residual value for family and friends.”

Confronting the truth for me is often funny, distressing and embarrassing – it all rolls into a large ball of cringy what-the-fucks and why-would-you-do-this? I’m trying to be kind to myself during this process.

I’ve taken a piece of Kita’s advice as listed in 5 Tips for Starting your Memoir:

2. Diagram Your Life

"Some people have one burning story to tell. Others find it difficult to immediately pinpoint anything. Tristine Rainer, author ofYour Life as Story, recommends diagramming your life to gain perspective. To do this, get in a retrospective mood, enlist the help of a friend or spouse (martinis also work), and plot your life’s six most significant moments. When you do it thoughtfully and honestly, there will usually be one pivotal event that stands out as particularly intriguing and/or meaningful. If there isn’t, don’t worry. There are many different ways to diagram a life. Try dividing yours by critical choices, influential people, conflicts, beliefs, lessons, even mistakes. Experiment until you find the one story that wants to be told, the one experience that really fashioned you."

In a round-about way, I’ve begun “outlining” stories as they come to me. The Scrivener software I use to write, makes it fairly simple to do in the way that is most comfortable for me. I’m a picture person and [slightly] unorganized.

The program contains a cork-board type feature that allows me to add in notes and images. Anything that helps jog my memory, goes on this board: pictures of street names, first names, restaurants, breweries, bars, clothing, even stock photos of people who look familiar, dates, months, years – everything.

The bills from each hospital I stayed at, pictures of the Halo that was screwed in to my skull, 3 hours before radiation therapy.

Homework assignments from my brief stint in grad school.

Names of festivals I attended and farmer’s markets I’ve walked through.

Hell, even screenshots of Facebook messages, OkCupid correspondence and e-mails from former lovers.

All of this makes it seem like I’m constructing a vision-board of sorts – except there’s no hope for future manifestation; it already happened.

The memories are quite overwhelming at times – especially reviewing past relationships.

A brain hemorrhage wasn’t going to stop me from “attempting” to date - it just added to its' complexities. I was in my mid-twenties: online dating was the new thing and I wanted that “Sex and the City” experience I’d seen repeated on the show.

Back then, I always used to say I was the Blacker, “financially restricted” (in comparison), less fashionable and thanks to my brain disease, a more vulnerable version of Carrie.

Not dating was not an option. I was going to get mine. Sick and all.

And therein lies [part] of the problem.

As I write this, it was never just about those intimate relationships – it was (and continues to be) about the relationship I have with friends, my family and most importantly, myself.

Mood Music: New Attitude - Patti LaBelle

#blackgirlmagic in Costa Rica.

March 15, 2018

Storyville Coffee Company

Well, hello; it’s been a minute –

I had a wonderful time on my exploratory-exciting-but-mildly-stress-inducing vacation to Costa Rica for my #dirty30. The beaches. The people. The weather. The rickety banana seat bike from 1981 I used as a mode of transportation. The rice & beans with every meal.

I stayed in a rural village at the southernmost part of the country – Punta Banco – and sun bathed underneath the sky. I came back 50 shades darker with clear skin and an even clearer mind.

The yoga and complete disconnect helped with that.

This was my first solo trip out of the country and my first international experience as an adult – I know. I’m late to the travel game.

[In middle school, I took a “Missions Trip” with my church youth group to Juarez, Mexico – we built a house for a family in need. Several years later in college, I was supposed to dive head first into a study abroad program in Nicaragua, but ended up transferring schools].

There were about 5 of us housed at the Casa Marea Alta lodge, with some stragglers here and there— myself being the only American.

I ate most meals alongside the residents and twice a day, participated in outdoor yoga sessions on beautiful wooden gazebo in the center of the property.

In between dancing on the beach and horseback rides, I found the space to finish Terry McMillian’s, “I Almost Forgot About You” - I picked it up at Target the week before and it did what it was supposed to do: it was a light, sexy and charming story. A good beach read, summer jam about a successful middle-aged woman who comes to realize her own stagnation.

After discovering one of her former lovers has died, she decided to go back and reconnect with others from her past.

[I have contemplated doing this. Not sure if it’s a good or bad thing].

It was ok. The ending was a bit predicable.

My birthday itself came and went.

10 years. 3 cities. 3 jobs. 1 brain injury. Too many Tinder moments. Friends gained. Friends lost. OkCupid. A hell of a lot learned.

I spent some time mourning the loss of my youth.

Some would argue that I’m still quite young, however, I can no longer blame the dumb sh*t on being in my 20’s.

[Examples vary. Trust - there are many].

Ideally, by this time you should know a little better. Sadly, most people don’t.

Over the past month and a half, I have been thinking about the direction of this book.

I toggle with the idea of turning this, "loosely-based-on-true-events" story into a memoir; I had high hopes of developing fictitious reenactments.

It was a safe cloke: the things that are happening, aren’t happening me – they’re happening to the characters.

February 25th 2018 was the day I landed on the side of truth. Waking up on my birthday, coated in sweat [we had no a/c] on a hard mattress in the jungle, I had a moment.

With all of the makings of a day-time drama, why not?

Haha.

But seriously, I’m doing it. And it feels good.

Backing into a memoir means I will have to dip into places I’m not sure I want to go back to. Rewinding the clock 6 years – people, places and things that I would quite honestly prefer to forget.

It’s not too often a 20-something has a brain hemorrhage and has to figure out a way to navigate through the rest of the 20’s and everything that comes with it – in addition to relearning the fundamentals of basic skills: reading and mathematics.

Dr. Sesus books. Puzzle books. Brain games to help keep my mind sharp and rebuild my confidence.

I currently work in corporate marketing – it’s competitive and I certainly can’t use my ‘disability’ as an excuse.

I still want a career. I still want to create a "tribe". I still want to find love “in the big city”.

It sucks and continues to suck on the days when it becomes apparent that I’m still dealing with the residual effects of a brain hemorrhage.

Headaches. Incredibly debilitating migraines. Aphasia. Comprehension. Memory loss.

It’s an “invisible disease." You can not see it. For all intents and purposes, I look 100% fine.

I was 24 when it happened, so my brain was much more capable of bouncing back. Although though I am better relative to where I was, I will never be the same.

Fortunately, I have my family to thank; they stood by me every step, every tear and every meltdown along the way.

This, my friend, is the ultimate comeback I’ve been pining for since 7th grade – not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

I guess we’ll see.

Oh. One last thing: I finally got a library card.

Mood Music: Flawless - Beyonce ft. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Into The Jungle.

February 14, 2018 in Travel

Punta Banco, Costa Rica

I'm finally heading off to Costa Rica during my #dirty30 birthday week for a little R&R! I'll be back with updates in March. No telling what I might find in the jungle; hopefully a cute little coffee shop :) Stop by my Instagram for delicious pics and surfing fails - I'm sure there will be plenty.

Cheers and may the next decade be a fabulous one!

Mood Music: Feeling Good - Nina Simone

Slow and [Not So] Steady.

January 31, 2018 in Strategy

Victrola Coffee Roasters

Can't lie.

I've had a rough start to the New Year; it doesn't quite feel new – you know what I mean?

There’s nothing “fresh” about 2018… yet. Maybe my New Year starts in February? January has been kind of…meh, honestly.

This consistency thing is a lot harder than I thought. Although, I have been able to consistently get my ass in the gym, writing is something of another beast.

I'm mentally tired - no excuses though.

At some point in February, I will begin to slowly dive back into the novel. We [who is 'we?'] are going to hit 200 words every [other] day [or so] - we'll see.

Part of the problem is that I'm thinking about taking the book in a new direction, but I'm not sure if I should… which puts me in a place of stagnation.

Erg.

I hate that place.

What I will say, is that I have been much more active on social [although in one of the articles I’m about to share, taking a break comes highly recommended].

I’m not the biggest social media fan, but I’ve been pretty good [by my own standards] at "creating engagement" [via Instagram].

Tons and tons of pictures. And coffee. And Costa Rica!

Twitter is a little different: I never have anything to say. What I do say, I say it to you in this blog.

I’m going to have to figure a way around that.

In the meantime, I scoured the in-tah-netz for useful tips on New Years Resolutions for us creative types: 17 News Year's Resolutions for Writers was written a few years ago by author Jeff Goins, but hey: still relevant.

Boo-yow.

A few of the suggested that stuck out:

12. Break a rule.

Write in an unusual voice or depart from a norm. Stop using commas. Get rid of all adverbs. Do something that causes others, maybe even yourself, to feel uncomfortable.

7. Do your research.

It’s not enough to just “write what you know.” You have to expand what you know. Read a book or two, for crying out loud. Don’t merely pontificate.

Jesus – the one that hits hard:

6. Write when you don’t feel like it.

Professional writers don’t just write when inspiration strikes them. They offer themselves no excuses and do the work, no matter what. You need to do the same. Show up every day, without fail, as often as you can.

I am on the struggle train, hoping to get off soon – it’s hard out there for a pimp. Goin’s is right: no excuses! A lot of what he proposes, are common notions that most writer’s are aware of – a little refresher never did any harm though!

It’s good to have these ideas reiterated…until it sticks.

Penguin Random House had something more my speed and less daunting:

Their simple list sounds quite familiar:

2. Meet other Authors

Yep. Gotcha.

4. Try something new.

This new direction maybe? Harhmmmmm?

5. Improve your social media skills.

On it. *Pats self on Back* Atta girl.

Time to deactivate my OkCupid account. Ain’t nobody got time for distractions; I keep getting stuck with single dads' and guys who are 5’5 named Jan. Ugh.

(The hotties don't come out until April, anyway!)

Mood Music: Everything is Everything - Lauryn Hill